This favorite WWII song captures Russia’s ability to suffer and fight (Ahh the roads

Ekh Dorogi is a popular Russian favorite to this day. It was written in 1945. The famous Russian baritone Dmitry Khvorostovsky performed it frequently, so Western readers may find it familiar. The title means ‘Ahh, the roads’. Translation below.


Dear friends,

One of my main efforts over the past few years has been to try to convince as many people as possible that Russia is preparing for war. I also tried to warn against the completely mistaken idea that because the Russian people feared war (it does!), they were not ready for it (it does! ).

I tried logical and rational arguments. Then I went on an angry rant.

Now I will appeal to your hearts: just listen to this very famous Russian song from World War II, look at these pictures, read the lyrics (translated by Scott) and just try to feel with your heart what war means or, better, and if * feels * to the so-called “mysterious Russian soul”. Then think about the faces of Trump, Mattis, May, Macron and the rest and draw your own conclusions.

This is not an argument, you will “feel” it or not. I hope you will.

Kisses and congratulations to all,

The coronation

translated by Scott Humor

Ah, the roads, the dust and the misty mist,
Anguish, and shivers, and worries, and tall steppe grass.
Not a soul knows its destiny,
could your wings fold in the middle of the steppe?

The dust swirls over the boots, along the roads, along the fields.
All around, the inferno rages, pierced by rings of bullets.

Ah, the roads, the dust and the misty mist,
Anguish, and shivers, and worries, and tall steppe grass.

Burst of gunfire, crow descends,
Mine, mate, lies lifeless in this desert.
But the road continues, the dust continues to swirl,
All around the earth is burning, not the Russian – foreign earth.

Land of pines, the sun illuminates the dawn,
The mother on her threshold awaits the return of the son.
And along the endless roads, along the steppes, along the fields,
We are observed and followed by the eyes of our mothers.

Ah, the roads, the dust and the misty mist,
Anguish, and shivers, and worries, and tall steppe grass.
Snowstorms or windstorms, friends, ask,
At each of these roads our eternal quest.

———————————————————

Эх, дороги

Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…
Знать не можешь доли своей,
Может, крылья сложишь посреди степей.

Вьётся пыль под сапогами степями, полями;
А кругом бушует пламя да пули свистят.

Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…

Выстрел грянет, ворон кружит,
Твой дружок в бурьяне неживой лежит.
А дорога дальше мчится, пылится, клубится;
А кругом земля дымится, чужая земля.

Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…

Край сосновый, солнце встаёт,
У крыльца родного мать сыночка ждёт.
И бескрайними путями, степями, полями
Всё глядят вослед за нами родные глаза.

Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…
Снег ли ветер, вспомним, друзья,
Нам дороги эти позабыть нельзя.


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